“You can't do this to me!” Aldhelm shouted as more blades nailed him to the ground through his clothing that now looked more like a finely handcrafted coffin.

Mildrith refused to answer until she was good and ready. When that was apparently was only after her brother was fully restrained and covered so completely in blades rising would mean certain death. In the meantime, she cycled through the balling in her hand taking in every private moment her brother stole.

Her cold expression broke for just a moment as she saw a moving image of her pleasuring herself. It broke once more as she saw herself bathing. There seemed no end to the recordings. They went back years ending just before her 12th birthday when Aldhelm first began talking to her. Soon after, he convinced their father she was worthy of magic.

“Garland said you think you're in love with me,” Mildrith said as she crushed the balling in her hand, throwing it pieces and drops of her blood over Aldhelm. “Is this love?” She pulled at the beads used to capture her image letting them fall to the ground. “I thought you loved me brother, or at least saw potential in me.”

“I do love you,” Aldhelm pleaded. “I kept it to myself all these years out of shame, but it's true.”

“You love me?” Mildrith said as almost a question. “That’s why you threaten my friend to ball my image. That’s why you kill the first man I’ve shone the slightest interest in? No brother, you're just sick and with my right to magic in Tanya’s hands, I don’t need you.”

Aldhelm tried to rise but yelled in pain as he was cut by the blade surrounding him. “Let me out! I’ve given you everything. Without me, you’d still be a maid or worse. You should be thanking me.”

“I am thankful.” Mildrith nodded. “I might have let you ravish me if you hadn't kept this secret for so long. So thank you for letting me get old enough and strong enough to say no.”

She turned to make her way for the exit giving her final words of warning. “Now if you think of taking revenge on Garland, on any of us, just remember how easy this was for me. Without your Valkyries, you're just a cultivator with a terrible build.”

Then she disappeared from Aldhelm's view leaving him nailed to the floor for the next day or so.

****

Bitarr walked through the entrance to the Hall like an apparition on the corner of one's vision. He still held Brand’s form but discovered something interesting while perusing the Jabari’s mind. His focus was simply to make mana unseen and unnoticeable by any means. For a being made of tightly packed mana in the shape of a human, that meant he could go almost completely invisible at will which is how he made his way back to the Hall with such ease.

There was also the convenient way this body circulated mana. With a combination of runic tattoos and precise control, Bitarr was able to sever his link to Tanya without disappearing back into his prison. Until the sun dipped beneath the horizon, he was free to roam to his heart's content. But orchestrating the means of his escape came before town buffoonery.

Bitarr tasted the divine essence in the air following it back to its source. It was different from the god that held dominion over this place. It was far weaker, a guest in Prometheus’s house, one most would not think would be allowed a place of worship like the Hall. But of course, Prometheus studied all things, even subjects banned by the Aesir like necromancy.

Bitarr stopped his search as the path he followed ended in a stone wall. With Brand’s magical perception he could tell this wall could be opened through several complicated spells. It would take hours, but he could do it with just enough time to complete his mission.

“But why do things the hard way when I've got this strapping young lad’s brain on my side?”

Bitarr placed a hand on a crack in the wall as several of Brand’s tattoos glowed. He suddenly shrank down to the size of an insect and simply walked through the wall expanding his size as he made it to the other side.

Bitarr found a new appreciation for his divine body. With no true flesh and bone getting in the way, manipulating the mana he was made of came easy with the knowledge in his head. To control the size of an enneagram was relatively simple but difficult to accomplish at a moment's notice. Luckily, Brand had the runes required to do just that tattooed across his right bicep and left shoulder blade.

Once Bitarr readjusted himself, he looked around the room, eyes pausing on words written across the archway. “Tower of Death.” The divine essence in the air was now so thick someone had to be in communion with their god.

Bitarr continued his search passing many black-robed monks playing with spells using death magic to see how they were affected by the dangerous energy. They seemed to just change to a darker hew to the god. His personal knowledge combined with Brand’s was not enough to gleam whatever discoveries were being made, but that didn't. He wasn't looking for a Necromantic Thaumaturge. He was looking for the monk kneeling at an altar with his eye closed and fingers knitted together in prayer.

With fingers wiggling like tentacles, Bitarr placed a hand on the monk’s head tapping into a steady stream of faith. He immediately found himself in a realm of complete darkness. The only sound that could be heard was the howling of wind that chilled his soul the first time he walked within Hel’s realm. Now it was a welcoming melody like the laughing of children on a happy summer day.

Bitarr cupped his mouth yelling so all the realm could hear him. “Hel! Hel! Hel! Hel! Hel!” he boomed with a bit of magic, drawing out the name for several seconds.

“What!” shouted a feminine voice with the force of a roaring hurricane.

“It’s me!”

The area brightened from a source that could not be seen revealing a beautiful and deathly pale woman that towered over Bitarr. Her eyes held nothing but darkness mirroring the ten shadowy horns jetting from her head, each one pointing in a different direction. She was just as Bitarr remembered except for one major detail.

Bitarr tilted his head in speculation. “Your scars are gone. How’d you pull that off?”

Chains of death magic shot out from around the goddess wrapping Bitarr in bindings of unlife. “Tell me who you are mortal, or I shall devourer that pathetic soul of yours.”

Bitarr absorbed the chains as he walked up to Hel hugging one of her legs and giving her knee a kiss. “My Lady Death, I’ve never been mortal.”

“Bitarr!” Hel exclaimed. She shrank down matching Bitarr’s height giving his body a curious look. “I haven't seen you in three centuries.” She slid her hands across his body squeezing muscles in heated anticipation. “And to visit me with such a body. He looks like Nergal or at least one of his people.”

"Nergal who?" Bitarr said but forgot his own words when the goddess pulled him in for a kiss, deep passionate, one he'd waited 300 years for. Sadly, his rescue came first so he pulled away. doing so felt like clawing out his eye.

"I’m in a bit of trouble and could use some help.”

Hel chuckled. “What kind of help could you possibly need?”

“I’d like to know as well if you don't mind,” said a young monk that appeared out of nowhere causing Bitarr to jump in surprise and Hel to sigh in annoyance.

“What are you doing here Prometheus?” Hel asked with a hint of impatience.

“I just wanted to know what Bitarr was doing snooping around my temple.”

Bitarr scoffed. “I wasn't snooping. I’m just looking for help a shut-in like you can’t provide.”

“And that help would be?” Hel questioned.

“I’m imprisoned on Midgard and need some divine help to break out.”

Hel’s eyes narrowed. “I guess the Aesir didn't learn the folly of imprisoning gods and monsters.”

“It's not the Aesir,” Bitarr corrected. “It’s some demi-god using me birth him an army.”

“Well shit,” Prometheus shuddered. “And so comes the end of this age.”

“You really let a demigod capture you,” Hel mocked.

A deep frown crept onto Bitarr’s borrowed face. “Let me remind you, Fenrir was stronger than all the Aesir before he attained godhood. And Vidar killed him as a demigod. All it takes is the right nature and Gunnar's nature is one of the worst I've ever seen." Bitarr looked deeply into Hel's eyes as if his gaze held power. "All it takes is one look." He snapped his finger. "And your power, magic, godhood, it’s all gone until he looks away. In a one-on-one battle, no one can defeat him, not without, I don't know, an army of the undead.”

Prometheus massaged his thin beard. “This is troubling. You don't build an army of demigods without large ambitious. This Gunnar will march, and when he does, he’ll achieve godhood in no time making him even more dangerous. I’d like to help but leaving the Hall isn't an option thanks to Modi. I guess it's up to you Hel.”

“You guess wrongly,” the goddess said. “I can't march an army into Midgard without starting an end war. The Aesir will attack my forces forcing me to defend and we all know how the story goes. My mother might not join the fight but Utgard won't stay idle, not after how many of us died during Ragnarök.”

“If Gunnar keeps building power, he’ll start an end war anyway,” Bitarr argued, the fate of the nine realms not really on his mind.

“Maybe in Midgard,” Hel said. “But not all of the realms and even if he does have a powerful nature, several pantheons will join to end him, Nergal included.”

“Nergal!” Prometheus exclaimed. “He’s still alive, or still undead, I guess. I haven't seen him since, well, I don't know. Three, no, four thousand at the very least?”

“He ended up Vanaheim after Ragnarök. Built himself a nation and has made me a goddess of magic there.”

Bitarr frowned. “I don’t know who the fuck this Nergal is but I’d rather not rely on someone that will only show up after Gunnar marches on Vellia. Being freed this century would be nice after all.”

“True, but we could solve this problem with quality over quantity,” Prometheus offered. “Send in your best followers to do the job. A few dozen Eldridge Knights and necromancers could probably assassinate one powerful demigod.”

“That's also not happening,” Hel said regrettably. “All stable pathways from Helheim are watched constantly. Any powerful servant of mine crossing into Midgard would be killed instantly. Besides, I can't spare my best warriors. Death is encroaching on my territory.”

“I thought you were death,” Prometheus said with a questioning look.

“She means the horseman,” Bitarr informed.

“What horseman?”

“The horsemen of the apocalypse, you know, Christians.”

“Christians!” Prometheus exclaimed. “Those losers are still around. Back in my day, they could hardly be called a religion.”

“Well, they grew quite strong,” Hel huffed. “But like everyone else, they took heavy losses during Ragnarök. Sadly, the horsemen survived.”

“So did Vara,” Bitarr added.

Prometheus looked genuinely hurt by his lack of knowledge. “What does Vara have to do with Christians?”

“She used to go by the ark angel Michael,” Hel and Bitarr both said.

“Isn't that interesting.”

"Whatever,” Bitarr said, trying to stay on topic. He turned to Hel. “Why not use someone already in Midgard.”

Hel shrugged “Because I have no powerful servants in Midgard. They're all just sycophants looking for a shortcut to power.”

Prometheus turned to Bitarr. “Can't you just ask your own family for help?”

“Even if I could contact them, only Amra would listen and she’s on equally bad terms with them as me.” Bitarr snapped his finger as an idea came to him. “How about your mother. A few powerful jotnar could get the job done.”

“Same problem,” Hel said. “Jötunheimr is watched just as heavily as Helheim. And Angerboda has no human followers.”

“I guess I’ll go with my other plan,” Bitarr acquiesced and sighed. "There's a group, humans mostly, I think, with psychomancy mucking about their brains."

"That makes them easy to find," Hel said.

"You don't mean the Dreyarks?" Prometheus said.

"No, at least I don't think so," Bitarr said pulling Hel into his arms. "Now if you don't mind, I’d like some private time with my pretty goddess."